


longing for some little language.

by riskbreakered



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/F, Poetic Gay Nonsense, Post Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 21:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11677284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riskbreakered/pseuds/riskbreakered
Summary: There are still so many things in a day that are left unsaid.





	longing for some little language.

In these less fractious and uncertain times, Max knows there are still so many things in a day that are left unsaid. Whether or not this is for the better, she has learned that perhaps not everything can be bought or bartered with words, or other sentimental currency. Silence, however, stretches itself to hold so many vital possessions.

There are days, busy days, days of work and fulfillment or regret, days that fall into weeks where the silence proves difficult and stifling; she listens to the sailors, hears aught what comes in with the tide, be it fortunes or trouble. She waits, wonders, calculates the strength of her heart and how much hope it might hold for tomorrow. 

The sea wind pulls in from the windows of her office, teasing the candle at her desk as she writes, affording hushed whispers but little in the way of wanted answers.

So she agrees to patience.

She waits, until the evening comes, until Anne finds herself in Max's personal quarters, perched at the edge of her bed. The sea returns her once again to Nassau, without much in the way of forewarning.

\--Though Max hasn't stopped listening, hoping.

She sets aside the book in the lap. Anne takes off her hat and sets it on the nightstand.

The silence demands filling, she thinks for a moment, as if words spoken between them can serve as the remedy. Max sits up, leans forward, and Anne moves in counter to kiss her. And there's a reply to questions unasked, in the taste of her lips, in the pull of her arms, her hands, in the faith that is answered in a quiet, low-it room.


End file.
